


Friendzone is Fake News

by mshopevandyne



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Movie Night, Clint Barton is generally a mess, Clint freaks out a lil, F/M, Nat gets hurt, Timeline What Timeline, Unrequited Love, basically all of the avengers, bc that's basically canon now at this point right?, clint has a lot of feelings, there's a lot to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mshopevandyne/pseuds/mshopevandyne
Summary: It isn't exactly like it was a downright rejection but then again, he hadn't given her the chance to turn him down flat. He'd just cut Nat off as she was trying to form the words that would shatter his heart into little splinters."Actually, y'know, just forget I said anything." The relief that shone in her eyes was more than enough confirmation.





	Friendzone is Fake News

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Blaire](http://the-writings-of-our-hearts.tumblr.com) for being my beta <3
> 
> This work is loosely inspired by [this comic by ironfries](http://ironfries.tumblr.com/post/22851222204/its-all-right-he-tells-himself-shell-be-all).

**********

Clint supposes that, with all things considered, it hadn't gone badly. It hadn't gone the way he wanted, sure, but that was okay. Expected, even.

And sure, thinking about it makes it feel like all the air is being sucked out of the room but that would probably go away eventually, right?

It isn't exactly like it was a downright rejection but then again, he hadn't given her the chance to turn him down flat. He'd just cut Nat off as she was trying to form the words that would shatter his heart into little splinters.

"Actually, y'know, just forget I said anything." The relief that shone in her eyes was more than enough confirmation.

They had been spending a lot of time together at that point, so it was through no fault of his own that his old feelings for her were dredged up past all of the crap he had tried to drown it with. Missions for the Avengers were at an all-time low, which they really were grateful for. In the past few months they had all taken to just living at headquarters because, honestly, that was a whole hell of a lot easier than waking up at 3 in the morning by a call from Stark telling him to drag his half-awake ass across the city to stop an armed robbery or yet another random alien event that seemed to occur more and more after The Incident. 

And though Stark Tower is by no means small, it got to the point where he'd run into at least two or three of them a day doing random things - waking up in the morning and blearily shuffling to the kitchen for some coffee only to find Wilson already there, a cup steaming in his hands with his eyes half open. He'd hand the coffee pot straight to him without a word and they'd just stand there in the kitchen until they could finally form coherent thoughts. Or going to the training room for a session and seeing Rogers already there beating a punching bag to a pulp, and together they'd go through some drills.

But the 'team-building' (Rogers' term, of course) really began when he was heading down to the kitchen one night for a snack and saw Rhodes rummaging through the fridge. His head popped up when he heard Clint's shuffling feet, and he held a six pack up for him to see, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. Clint grinned at him and together they made their way over to the couch and turned on whatever looked interesting on the TV. Pretty soon they were joined by Sam - who uttered a "hell yes" at the sight of the beer, grabbed two, and all but collapsed into one of the armchairs - and Bruce - who politely declined the beer Rhodey stretched out to him, but took up the armchair on the other side of the couch anyway. 

It was cause and effect: as missions became less frequent and less dangerous, the Avengers spent more and more time together, until what had been just a random night of drinking and watching television turned into an almost weekly ritual. When they got bored with TV they'd throw in a movie, and pretty soon they were joined by even more people - Pepper would come to the kitchen for her nightly cup of tea and if the movie was something she liked she would stay and watch with them. Rogers found out by accident, looking for Sam one night and finding them all watching Die Hard. 

It became known as Avengers Movie Night. Almost mandatory from the way Rogers talked about it, but no one really complained. It was... nice. Almost like being normal. Like having friends. Like being a part of something. 

It was at that point when those old feelings and memories came trickling back. 

Nat would come into the room just as the movie started and would make Clint scoot over so she could grab a small sliver of the couch, propped up by one of the arms. She'd stick her freezing feet under his thighs and grin wickedly at him when she saw him trying to suppress a yelp of discomfort. Or she'd bring a fleece blanket and throw it over their knees, or shove a box of chocolate candies in front of him, eyes never leaving the screen of the TV. 

It was practically impossible to ignore her. Like damn, he was only human. 

Gradually he felt the return of those days they'd spent as Strike Team Delta, having to live in crappy motels for weeks at a time, waking up to her singing off-key to random songs in the shower, the close confines of their rented car filling with the smell of her perfume. The worst missions were having to pretend to be in a relationship - he'd had to get out of the motel after those, drive around the random city they were in for that week with the windows down to clear his head. Just as he was starting to go crazy, the missions together lessened, and they more or less went their separate ways professionally, although they remained close friends. There was enough distance between them at that point that Clint could pretty much forget about his pathetic pining for her - or at least bury those feelings in work and a new dog and training and whatever else got thrown at him.

It was those stupid movie nights that damned him. And her stupid freezing feet. Her stupid candy, her stupid sense of humor, her stupid surprising nerdy side, her stupid hair, her stupid grin, her -.

Back on track, Barton.

After a particularly nasty mission - a man with some Hammer Tech had started kidnapping children to do God only knew what - the Avengers cut loose more than usual, and the typical six pack gradually turned into Stark's infamous mixed drinks. No one got plastered by any means, but the night was louder and rowdier than what had come to be expected of Movie Night. Even Rogers looked more relaxed than usual after Thor broke into his stash of Asgardian liquor. 

He and Nat were the last ones still awake, albeit barely, by the time someone popped in the third movie of the night; everyone else had either gone to bed or had fallen asleep right there in the living room. Tony and Rhodey were squashed together on an armchair, sharing a blanket Pepper had thrown over the both of them, and Thor was propped up in a corner snoring quietly. 

They were both a little tipsy, just enough so that Clint casually had his arm resting on the back of the couch and either Nat didn't notice or didn't care. It was a funny movie, and they were laughing. And then Nat would say something, but it would be a little slurred and it'd make her giggle, which would set Clint off laughing without even knowing what she was going to say.

"Now you're laughing at me!" She said, still giggling. And because Nat is vindictive that way, she took her cold hands and promptly pressed them directly into his cheek and pushed.

"I'm not, I'm sorry," he'd say, wiping at his eyes, elbowing her hands out of the way good naturedly. "Ah Nat, you are my best friend, but sometimes-". I wish you were more.

He didn't register that his eyes had gone wide until he saw Nat's twin expression of fear cross her face.

Oh shit. His brain caught up with his mouth. He tried to play it off, shaking his head and laughing some more, but he could see how she took it - he knew her so well. Could see the tightening of her eyes, the thinning of her lips. He saw her intake of breath, her pause, as if she was thinking very carefully about what she was going to say next.

I'm such an idiot. "Actually, y'know, just forget I said anything." He purposefully let himself slur a little more than he would have and attempted to laugh again.

It worked well enough; she glanced at him, trying to catch him in a bluff. She was usually subtle about these kinds of things, but she had enough to drink that she just squinted at him. He laughed harder, and then she snorted and shoved him in the chest. "You suck, Barton."

"Yeah, yeah," he replied, unfolding himself from the couch and getting up, still laughing quietly to himself. He heard her quiet 'g'night' from the couch and hummed back a response.

When the elevator closed, he sagged against the wall. Never drinking vodka again.

**********

He subconsciously starts to avoid her. Tries to put some distance between them so he doesn't screw up again.

He starts showing up late to movie nights so that his customary couch spot is taken, and he grabs an armchair or the floor instead. He takes to running different routes and changing his schedule around so he doesn't run into her. He even starts volunteering early to go on missions with Barnes or Rhodes instead of waiting for Nat to come find him or SHIELD to request for Delta. 

It was on one of those volunteer missions that he gets the call. He and Wilson are doing some basic recon for a potential crime boss that has made SHIELD's threat list; Clint lost rock paper scissors that day and so has to be Wilson's eyes and ears while he gets to do all of the fun work. Clint is just starting to doze off a little - I mean, Clint is pretty good at his job, but holy shit, the mark had spent the last three and a half hours in some tiny lame-ass art gallery talking to nobody, just staring at paintings for what Clint considered an obscene amount of time, someone save him - when his work phone goes off. 

And that always means trouble.

"Barton." He says as a way of greeting after the phone hardly even finishes its first buzz.

"It's Stark, requesting backup. We're downtown, there's some - SHIT-" Clint can hardly hear him over the loud crashing and static coming from the phone. Before Stark is cut off by what sounds like a huge explosion, Clint has already signaled Wilson through his earpiece to cut the mission short and take off immediately. Tony keeps trying to explain what's happening through a series of progressively louder and louder interference, but all Clint manages to figure out is that Stark and whoever was with him on this outing are fucked, and they need help twenty minutes ago.

With Stark shouting in his ear, Clint diverts the surveillance tech from the art gallery and searches around the area. He's in the process of looking at the mess that is now downtown - fucking ninjas? What is this shit? - and getting Jarvis to prep the others still in Avengers tower to head in, when Stark's latest update registers.

"Wait, where is Nat?"

"I have no clue, I just said that Barton. I saw her get hit and then I got pushed by some kind of- watch out!" Stark is distracted again.

Clint has a mild panic attack. If Stark has no clue where she is, then that means her comms are probably down which could mean tracking her wouldn't work and they'd find her too late and she'd be-

He gives himself approximately six seconds to panic before he ruthlessly shuts those thoughts down and gets himself to think. 

She could just be unconscious. The thought almost paralyzes him, but if her comms actually aren't down he can work with that. A quick search pulls up a map of all of the Avengers and their locations. It's unhelpful in the sense that there aren't any names, just blinking dots, but there are only two of those in the downtown vicinity, with other dots nearing. Clint focuses in on the two.

One is still moving. One is not.

He takes just enough time to send the coordinates to Wilson, who was already out and is therefore closest to the scene, before grabbing his bow and sprinting.

In the end his panic is only somewhat justified. The ninjas, while wickedly fast and equipped with some truly terrifying alien-human hybrid weapon technology, are dealt with relatively quickly. Stark and Nat were in the area doing some damage control from their last mission when the guys came out of nowhere and charged at them. They were holding their own just fine until reinforcements came with the alien tech and before Stark could call for his suit one of the weapons hit Nat in the shoulder, blasting her through a store window and into the street.

Like he said, panic somewhat justified. And if he spends the next ten minutes after finding Nat and loading her into an ambulance locked in the nearest janitor closet trying to stop his hands from shaking, no one really needs to know.

Cleanup is quick and painless, and he and Wilson leave for the hospital while the others head back to the tower. Clint is restless as they slosh through traffic, the stop-and-go making Clint grind his teeth and bounce his leg, and because Wilson's a good guy he doesn't say a word. 

She's conscious but her shoulder is burned to a crisp, both her wrist and her arm are broken, and she has a concussion, the doctor tells them. She's staying the night for observation, and Clint can breathe a little easier. She's banged up but there's no lasting damage, she'll be okay, she's okay.

Then the doctor says she's allowed to have visitors and Clint's throat closes up all over again because he knows, he knows, that it'll be so hard. Too hard, to resist grabbing her and clinging for dear life. He's seen too much shit today, he's had about all he can handle, he won't - can't - see her lying on the hospital bed with her arm wrapped all up and be rational about it. Because the last thing he needs - hell, the last thing she needs - is for Clint to do something outrageously stupid, like burst into tears or some shit right in front of everybody and -.

"Uh, y'know Doc, that's alright, Wilson's gonna take point on this. I got - I gotta - yeah, I'm just -" and he fucking books it.

Like, he doesn't sprint or some shit, because he's a fucking spy, give him some credit, Jesus. But the only thing stopping his retreat from being speed-walking is the elbows firmly held in at his sides. And Sam, Clint's new official BFFL, doesn't say a word as Clint all but flies out of the room, out of the hospital, out of the city.

**********

He comms Barnes, because Barnes is always down to do something just shy of batshit and he really isn't in the habit of asking questions. They spend the rest of the day taking down some guys SHIELD has had on their list for a few months now. The initial investigation leads them across state lines and then into open waters, where the sun sets on them jumping out of a quinjet to land on a yacht, and that's where the real fun begins. It's a relief really - he's numb, his mind is blissfully void of any other thought than the next tactical move, enemy positions, angles and vantage points. Her name is still there rolling around in his brain - it's always there - but he can finally get some peace from the itching, almost unbearable desire to tear everything apart just to get to her.

The mission isn't terribly difficult, Clint's executed hundreds of ones just like this, but it keeps his mind on the task, he keeps moving, his brain is engaged in other things and he can deal with this. A few hours in, Rogers' voice comes through saying everyone is planning on a hospital visit, and Clint barely hears Barnes' reply as he's kicking in a door and aiming his bow at the men assembled around a large table overflowing with stolen weapons.

They get back to the tower a little after midnight, and the mission has done a lot for Clint's brain; he doesn't feel like all of the walls are pushing in on him anymore, so he takes that as a good sign. He's bone-deep tired but he knows he won't be able to sleep. She's most definitely asleep now, he'll just sneak in, look at her, make sure she's okay, see her so he can know for himself that she's there, and then he'll be okay, everything'll be right with the world again. He takes off from the tower once again.

It's the work of a child to slip into the hospital, he could've done it in his sleep, even with the bulk of the duffel bag slung across his shoulders. He opens her door slowly, and it barely makes a noise as he opens it wide enough to slip inside.

She's deep in sleep, her mouth open slightly and her hair fluffed all around her head. Her arm is in a sling, shoulder wrapped in clean white gauze, but she looks peaceful, not like she's in pain. Clint takes a silent but shuddering breath and slumps down in the chair on the other side of her hospital bed. He puts his head in his hands.

How is it possible to simultaneously breathe easier and also feel like he's choking?

He should have been there. 

They're supposed to have each other's backs, they're Strike Team Delta, he should have been there. Instead he's spent the past few weeks with his head stuck so far up his ass he didn't stop to consider how his actions might affect Nat, how not having her partner at her back might be a cause for concern or potential threat. Now she's paying the price.

In the end, it's an easy promise to make to himself; it really doesn't matter what his feelings are or what she feels (or doesn't) in return, it isn't worth the cost of not being there to have her back when things go to hell. He's going to get his shit together and work to make sure that when shit hits the fan again he's not going to be miles away but right at her side to help, like he's always been. Like it should have been.

His new resolve comes with an easing of tension in his throat, and he doesn't have to work so hard after to draw breath. He bends down to unzip the duffel and unloads some of her stuff on the nightstand next to him - a pair of new clothes, her tooth and hair brush, her arrow necklace (fuck you, he's doing his best), and a ridiculously soft golden stuffed puppy that reminds him, and subsequently will remind Nat, of Lucky. It'll make her snort and roll her eyes but he knows she'll secretly love it.

He's got to head out before someone comes to check on her, so he goes to stand. Takes a deep breath. Brushes a strand of red hair from her face, gently.

"I'm really sorry I'm such an idiot, Nat. I'm gonna do better, I'm gonna deserve your friendship, your partnership. I promise." He pauses, checks her breathing, still finding it even and deep. "I love you."

He shuffles around the bed again, quiet as a whisper, opens and closes her door with only the softest of sounds. The room is complete silent for almost a full minute before her breath catches.


End file.
